


Thick-Skinned

by aces



Category: Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I mean, you went from you to Super-Genius you to you again, all in a couple days. There's bound to be some kind of existential whiplash with all that, I figure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thick-Skinned

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery for and related to "Flowers for Hobbes."

Bobby was moving a little slowly. Taking his time. He was in no hurry, had nowhere to be tonight. Didn't feel like going to the bars. He needed some time to readjust to himself again. Get the feel of his old mental landscape, settle back into his old skin. Something like that anyway.

He was just starting to cook dinner when the doorbell rang. "Ahh, dammit," he sighed, looking between the browning onions and the kitchen doorway. Somebody started pounding on the door, and he cursed again but more half-heartedly. He'd recognize that knock anywhere.

"Coming!" he yelled and strode into the living room. He opened the front door. "Fawkes. Come in. Close the door behind you," he added over his shoulder as he headed back into the kitchen.

"Hobbes. Uh, hi?" Darien trailed after him. "Nice to see you? What's going—on," he stopped when he saw Bobby standing at the stove. "You cook?"

"Whattya mean, 'you cook?'" Hobbes was offended. "Of course I cook, who doesn't cook, what do you take me for?"

Darien came up and sniffed over the skillet in curiosity. "What are you cooking?"

"A chicken curry," Bobby rolled his eyes. "Do you want some or something?"

Darien wrinkled his nose. "I don't know."

Hobbes glared at him. "What do you want, partner? Why'd you come over?"

"What, I can't just come visit?" Darien protested.

"No," retorted his partner. "You _don't_ just come visit. I'm the one who ends up visiting you, remember?"

"Yeah, but you've never very neighborly when you visit," Darien pointed out, still staring in fascination at the skillet.

"Neither are you." Hobbes started dumping in curry powder, paprika, cinnamon, sugar, salt, minced garlic. "I'm fine, Fawkes. Still me. Not gonna solve any big scientific mysteries like the Agency's budget anytime soon. Is that what you were worried about?"

"Of course not." Even Fawkes seemed to realize how lame his protest sounded. He shook himself a little and turned around, leaning his back against the counter next to the stove. He was still wearing his corduroy jacket over his shirt and jeans. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean, you went from you to Super-Genius you to you again, all in a couple days. There's bound to be some kind of existential whiplash with all that, I figure."

"I'm fine." Bobby shook his head as he started stirring in the diced chicken and coconut milk and yogurt and a dab of tomato paste. "Jeez, Fawkes, c'mon, you know me. Bounce back from anything."

"This wasn't just anything."

"It never is," Hobbes muttered and stirred. "I'm fine, Fawkes. I'm just…taking it easy tonight. Lying low. Nothing wrong with that."

"Absolutely not," Fawkes agreed. "Good idea. And it's probably easier to lie low if I'm not around bugging you, right?" Bobby looked up at him out of the corner of his eye but didn't say anything. Darien sighed and nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He clapped Bobby on the shoulder. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, right?"

Bobby turned the heat down on the skillet to let it simmer, setting the timer on the microwave. He finally turned away from the stove, relieved on the one hand that Fawkes was leaving, already missing his company on the other hand. "Of course you will, Fawkes. Think I'm gonna take a day off? Fatman would never give me sick pay."

Darien snorted and followed Hobbes out of the kitchen. "Yeah, I know; he'd weasel out of it somehow. Okay, okay, I'll leave you to your _curry_. I just wanted—"

"I know." Hobbes opened the front door. "And thanks, partne—Claire!"

"Oh!" The Keeper's hand dropped away from the door buzzer before she could press it, and she looked at the two men in embarrassed surprise. "Hello." She quickly recovered and smiled at them. "I see you had the same idea, Darien."

"For crying out loud," Hobbes said under his breath. He stared at her and thought he might have felt either a little flattered that she'd come to check up on him or a little hurt that she didn't think he could look after himself. Or maybe both. Bobby Hobbes was a man who could juggle multiple conflicting emotions. "You too, Keep?"

"Professional courtesy call," she held up a hand solemnly. "Honest."

Fawkes looked between them. "Hobbes is cooking chicken curry," he said suddenly.

Claire blinked, and Bobby hoped he wasn't blushing. "I've always enjoyed a good curry," she said cautiously, and now Bobby _really_ hoped he wasn't blushing.

"I—it's not—I've never made this recipe before," he blurted out. "I—um—oh, hell. Do you both want to stay?"

"Are you sure?" Claire said, a little frown creasing her brow, and that tiny line between her brows always made his heart jump a little, and Bobby Hobbes had hoped that by this point in his life his heart would stop doing silly things like that.

"It makes plenty," he assured them both after swallowing. "You're both here now, you might as well stay."

Darien and Claire exchanged looks, and then she smiled at Bobby again. "I'd love to stay," she said, and then she looked dismayed. "Oh dear, I didn't bring any wine or anything."

"Not a problem," Bobby held the door wide and swept both his guests back into the living room. Everyone carefully did not look at the empty space where his glass coffee table had been. At least he'd gotten the floor swept and vacuumed before they showed up, though he probably wasn't going to go around the living room barefoot anytime soon. "I have a well-stocked liquor cabinet." He walked back into the kitchen, both of them following. What a way to settle back into your skin, he thought as he stirred the curry. Two of your best friends hovering while you _cook_. "Fawkes, could you set the table? There's plates and cups in that cupboard." He pointed with his spoon. "Claire, there's a salad bowl in the refrigerator; could you take it out and put it on the table?"

"Of course, Bobby," the Keeper smiled. For a moment, both his friends were in the dining area off the living room, and Bobby took a deep breath. Still getting the hang of being himself again. Fawkes was right about there being a little—what'd he call it, existential whats-it—but maybe having his friends around would help after all.

Seeing as how they were the ones who'd put him back in his skin in the first place.

Hobbes turned away from the stove and went to the little breadbox to pull out the fresh naan he'd picked up at the market on his way home from work. His hands were shaking a little and he stared down at them, willing them to still. "Need any help, partner?" he heard from the doorway, and he didn't turn around, didn't jump externally even if he stopped breathing for a moment there.

"Nah, it's covered." Hobbes closed his eyes for a moment before turning around. "But you can take the bread into the other room, since you're here. Hey, Keep!" he called as Darien slipped back into the dining area. "Open a bottle of whatever takes your fancy."

"Alright, Bobby," he heard her call back, and he went back to stirring the curry.

"Mmm, that smells delicious," Claire said from the doorway, judging by how close her voice was.

"Thanks." He didn't want to sound shy around Claire. Why was it he could chat up any woman he met in a bar or behind a receptionist's desk, but the instant he was in the same room as the Keeper he turned to mush? That was a real pain in the ass. Fawkes now, Fawkes had no trouble talking to the Keep, and she was cool as a cucumber talking to both of them. Not even remotely fair. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

"Of all the things I imagined you cooking, Hobbes—and I've never actually imagined you cooking—chicken curry never fell into that nonexistent list," Darien said, leaning against the other side of the kitchen doorway from Claire. Bobby glanced back at them both, bookending each other. For a moment he wondered if they'd planned this, accidentally running into each other looking in on him, but he couldn't see either of them being quite that sneaky.

Probably.

Hobbes told himself to pull away from Paranoid Plaza. "Oh, what, I'm not allowed to have international tastes?" He added some freshly-squeezed lemon juice and cayenne pepper to the simmering mix. "You two can quit hovering, you know. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

He saw them exchange glances again, out of the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath, rather than slamming the heat off on the stove or doing something else he might regret. "You don't have to be so careful," he muttered and grabbed a trivet, carrying it and the skillet into the other room and setting them down on the table.

"We're not," Claire said, turning around in the doorway to keep watching him. "We're just worried about you, that's all."

"You don't have to do that either."

They both looked at him, sympathy all over Claire's face and something more indefinable but partially worry all over Darien's. "Well, come on then," Bobby said, sitting down at the head of the table and gesturing to the spread. He was tired, and he still couldn't tell if he wanted them to go or stay. "Might as well eat."

It was quiet for a few minutes, as they filled their plates and started eating. Fawkes sat up straight, all polite and on his best behavior; Claire picked at her food daintily, even though Hobbes had seen her chomp down on a burger more than once. Bobby's hands were still shaking a little, and he couldn't look at either of his friends as he gnawed at a carrot in the salad. And then Darien said through the silence, "Did you hear what Eberts wants us to do now when requesting reimbursement for stuff?"

"I know!" Claire sounded indignant. "_And_ in triplicate! I told him it's a waste of paper."

"_Eberts_," Bobby agreed darkly, even as his mood lifted a little.

Claire looked between the two men, a forkful of curry halfway to her mouth, and smiled, brilliantly. She put down the food and held up her wine glass. "I propose a toast," she said.

Fawkes and Hobbes obediently lifted their own glasses. "To friendship," she said, and Bobby swallowed past a lump that had just appeared in his throat.

"To two of the best friends a guy could ask for," he said, and manfully didn't mind when his voice choked up a litle.

"To being above average," Darien said, looking at Hobbes steadily.

"To getting paid," Claire said, "even if very badly."

"To forms in triplicate," said Darien.

"So long as the copier doesn't break down," Bobby added.

"To us," Claire said, and they clinked their glasses.

Darien started talking about the prank he'd pulled on one of the other agents, and Claire was halfway between laughing and admonishment, lecturing Darien for wasting the quicksilver like that. The curry was well and truly demolished, barely any salad was left, and Claire was tearing one of the last pieces of naan into smaller and smaller bits, occasionally actually eating one of the pieces. Darien sprawled in his seat, legs everywhere, just like usual; he and Claire at least were already back to normal.

Bobby poured himself some more wine and watched his friends and thought about what he could muster up for a dessert so they wouldn't leave too soon. He was still tired, but his hands weren't shaking anymore, and he could feel himself relaxing, muscle by muscle, releasing the tension.

Yeah. They'd help him settle back into his skin.


End file.
